In the Darkness
by EamonSweetmay
Summary: A short oneshot, where Faramir reflects on his and Eowyn’s relationship while they were growing up... Followed in chapter two by a postwar Faramir who has given up on life.
1. In the Darkness

**In the darkness.**

**A/N**: First Lord of the rings fanfic. Flame all your conscience can bear.

**Disclaimer**: The old dead guy deserves credit for my _entire_ imagination, so I won't try to claim any part of this story as my own.

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Faramir never really knew what to make of Eowyn. 

He had watched her at those rare occasions when Théoden had brought her, Èomer and Theodred to The White City. When they were very young, he had found her distant, secluded even. The four boys had played, gotten them self dirty; She would be sitting at her uncle's side, like a princess. Her eyes were fixed on dust in the air, and her thought elsewhere. He had thought her clever, thought she was thinking about intelligent things.

Then she grew older. She now left her uncle's side; went straying around on her own account. When the boys found her and ambushed her, he would see a flicker of amusement in her eyes, but she never joined them in their games. She did what was expected of her. Then they became teens, and her distant mind seemed colder.

He had been proud of his home. He and Boromir had flaunted it like they owned it, and shown the three children from the Mark all the greatest sights, their hunts, their prides, and she, Eowyn, had made it all seem so worthless. With her proud, clod-hearted attitude and her icy blue eyes she had made his dream, his life, seem small, insignificant. But she followed them around none the less, listening to his words.

The girls always found Boromir's empty words easier to relate to, but Eowyn would listen to him, Faramir, and sometimes she would even smile. She hit puberty, and she skipped a few summer visits. When she one year returned with her brother and cousin, he realized that she had grown out of his reach. The years apart had put out any spark of life she had carried before.

Now, again, she would be sitting at her uncle's side, not as a princess, but like a leashed dog next to its owner. She had acted as though she didn't mind, but it was clear that she was burning with envy. She too wanted to train with swords and ride the untamed horses on the field. But she acted perfectly. As a miniature lady. But inside of her the heart of a warrior was beating, and every drop of her blood called to her, begging to be spilled for what she believed in.

It wasn't until much later, as they both hit their teens that he realized that she had been putting him down, because she hated her own life so much. She was jealous of his freedom, and his possibilities; his opportunity to do and become what he wanted; his independence.

Little did she know, or, as he swore, would she ever know that he had admired those very trades in her. He was linked to this place forever and the White City was all he knew; She had no responsibilities, no locked destiny.

Eomer was given Firefoot; a gentle horse that would serve its master into death. Eowyn went to Hama, and talked him into giving her one of the broncos, an Isabella-coloured stallion whit a temper that rivalled her own. She named it Freawine after her ancestor, and asked it to uphold its temper and never be tamed as she had been.

When she was sixteen of age, she spent her last summer in the White City. She had, just before leaving Edoras, been in the Golden Hall with her uncle.

"Eomund once told me how proud he was of his son." Theoden said as they were walking down the length of the table. "And he said that his hopes for you were drowned the day you were born a girl." He smiled, because he knew what was coming next. Eowyn waited. "I agreed with him then. And in some ways I still do. Oh, the leader you could have been, had you only been a man." He turned and kissed her cheek. "And I know that inside of you burns the heart of a man and in your veins the courage of a soldier. But there is hope for you yet to do great things, Eowyn. Your sex prevents you from going to war, but not from fighting. And I think that your father would agree that your fight, the fight that has brought you to where you are today, has been worse and more deadly than any fight I will ever engage in." She smiled because he had understood her, but it was a stained smile, because she now, like him, knew what was coming next.

"But now your fight must end. It is time for you to find a suitable man and settle down."

So he hadn't understood her at all. The fight wouldn't end with her getting married. That would just be a new fight, a worse fight, a war. She smiled and nodded. "You're right uncle. That is what I need now. I shall do as you ask of me. May we both be happy when it is done!"

In Minas Tririth she had met Faramir. He had, ahead of her, grown beyond adolescence and into adulthood. He looked at her, with admiration, like all men did, but in the depths of his soul rested memories of being hurt by her, which tainted his behaviour towards her with bitter awareness of possible defeat. He dared not hope, as the other men did. He stayed at a distance, so she would have to come to him. And she did.

She found him standing at a balcony one night, seemingly unaware of her presence.

"Why do you stay out after the sun set, before the moon rises? The dark gives no answers to men." She whispered as she leaned against the railing next to him, her eyes seeking out stars that she knew from her home.

"The darkness is a part of our lives, just like the shadows and the bright sunlight." He answered after a while, just when she had accepted that no answer would come. "I don't love any of the three more than the others."

She smiled, and looked upon his face, for the first time without knowing what she would find there. She did not expect love to be shining back at her, but it did. She felt his hand rest on top of hers, gentle, as if fearing that it would be fragile and break at his mere touch. A distant, tepid wind blew in to meet them, as they planed their future in silence. Little did they know that a war was brewing in the darkness, and little did they know, that it would be years before they would meet again, but still they savoured every second as their last, waiting for the sun to rise on their future.

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Note: I love reviews. I love feedback. I love praise. I can take flamers on how wrong my entire picture of the Lord Of the Rings universe is. **

Eam


	2. Shining Light

**Shining light**.

**A/N**: This little baby is a follow-up to _In the Darkness_. Still, I am not entirely "in to" this whole Lord of the Rings universe only having read it twice. Most of this is inspired by the movies. Oh, and bear with the grammar and spelling, because I am from Denmark, which is not an English speaking country, so this is as good as it gets on those formal things.

**Disclaimer**: The old dead guy deserves credit for my _entire_ imagination, so I won't try to claim any part of this story as my own.

There was something in the air that made Faramir's head spin; A sweet mixture of sycamore and vanilla. And he was drunk, more drunk than he would admit to, had anyone dared ask him. But no one asked him about anything. They'd all agreed behind his back that he should be left alone to wallow in self-pity.

It was his first day out of the House of Healing. He had been allowed to take a short walk, and he had taken a short walk down to the nearest alehouse, to drink his heart out. And still, after several hours of drinking, he still wasn't near drunk enough to forget all the pain he was in.

He had hoped that someone would come and find him, and lead him back to his bed, and tell him that he was brave and strong and good – all of those things he didn't feel. But none came. At last he fell asleep with his head on the table, clutching his pint.

He awoke with a start, when Aragorn put a calm hand on his forehead and took his hand to feel his pulse.

"You silly fool. Haven't enough people died?" Aragorn mumbled and closed his eyes, so that he could concentrate on Faramir's heart-rhythm.

"What? What do you mean?" Faramir tried to sit up, but Aragorn put a strong hand on his chest and pushed him back. "What I mean is, my dear friend, that your pulse is way too high, you have a fever and one of your wounds has burst open. We had quite a few men out searching for you last night, but of course it was Lady Eowyn who found you. The same Eowyn, who weren't allowed to leave her bed, but foolishly did so anyway, because she was worried about you."

Faramir started remembering last night, and the days before that, and then the battle. "Eowyn is here? How has this come to happen?"

"She followed her brother and uncle into war. She killed the Nazgûl Lord and was injured by doing so. She sleeps now in the room next to yours."

"I had whished that someone would have told me. I would have gone to see her sooner."

"But you are not going to see anyone now; not for a while. You need rest." Aragorn pushed Faramir back into bed once more.

Faramir closed his eyes, but images of his dead friends kept filling up his injured mind. He had to open his eyes and take deep breaths to stop himself from throwing up.

"I'll never get used to it. Seeing people die, I mean." He whispered. Aragorn smiled softly. "Let's hope you'll never have to see that again, then."

"Is she in health? She's not going to die, is she?" Faramir allowed a woman to pull up his shirt and examine his wound. It bled a bit, but seemed fine nevertheless. Aragorn was still smiling, but it was a more strained smile. "We think so. The Lady Eowyn passed out after she had found help and she is still asleep. But her breathing is regularly and her pulse strong." Aragorn gave him one last heart-felt smile and left the room. Faramir ignored the woman now examining his shoulder and doused off to sleep.

When he awoke, Aragorn was at his side again and this time Gandalf was there as well.

"How is she doing?" he asked, fully expecting the two men to understand whom he was speaking of. Gandalf smiled. "Much better. And you must be feeling better as well, since your concern is now directed at Lady Eowyn instead of your self." Faramir nodded. "She is well?"

"She is well and awake and is walking around. The Darkness has now fully released its hold of her, it seems."

"How long have I been asleep?"

"A day have passed since you last spoke with Aragorn." The wizard said calmly. "And both you and Lady Eowyn are in much better health."

"I think I'm in love with her." Faramir blurted out. Aragorn and the white wizard looked shocked, but then burst out in laughter. "Indeed, it would seem so." Aragorn said, still laughing. "Is that why you went drinking?"

Faramir frowned. He held great respect for Aragorn, and he was not sure he could bring himself to give the King the real reason why he had thought drinking his heart out had been such a good idea. But he could not lie either. "No, I felt useless. My father always made me feel useless, and even now, after his death I can't find use for my self."

Aragorn sighed. "The Dark is still tearing at your heart. Perhaps we told you about your father too soon. But you are strong enough to fight the Darkness, Faramir." Aragorn put a hand on his shoulder and smiled. "But now there is someone here to see you."

Faramir looked up just in time to see Eowyn appear in the doorway. She seemed to shine; her hair was golden, her skin white, and she was wearing a white dress with gold embroidery. When she rushed to his side and threw her arms around him, he was almost afraid to hug her back, afraid of the beauty he had long forgotten in these past years of war and darkness.

When she pulled away she had tears in her eyes, and he was surprised to find a lump rise in his own throat. He had missed her so terrible.

"You were always so gentle, I half expected you not to go to war." She whispered, her face lit with happiness and steamed with tears.

"I always expected you to go to war, though." He said with a quivering voice. "I almost expected you to go all the way to Mordor."

"I was passed out when they went." She said laughing. "And I am glad. Because now I'm here, with you."

He took in her sent. It was sweet. Sycamore and vanilla – that was how she smelled. He leaned up and kissed her gently, their lips hardly touching. Then the kiss became warmer and more passionate, and soon they put everything into that kiss. All the love they had felt for one another while growing up, all the longing building up in their years apart, all the passion they had saved for each other. That first kiss deleted all that had been and from it sprung a new, strong and vibrant love. The love they had never dreamed of hoping for.

**Note**: I'd like to apologise to all my boys, who think it insulting that I am writing a Male/Female relationship. I AM SORRY. But she's a strong character, who has been forced into suppressing her true self and denying her nature for so long, and I can relate, being what I am. She's a true warrior and I'm a true queen – Oh, that was too good to leave it unused! Smiles.


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